


The Half-Blood Apprentice

by Pixileanin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Hogwarts, Apprenticeship, Community: HPFT, Gen, Jealousy, Potions, Prequel to my novel, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixileanin/pseuds/Pixileanin
Summary: If Severus successfully completed his apprenticeship, he'd get the opportunity to earn a title for himself. A Master. Prequel to 'Until We Close Our Eyes For Good'.





	The Half-Blood Apprentice

Severus Snape squeezed the fleshy worm in his bare hand until a small, greenish bubble formed at its base. Then he nicked off the tail, aiming the gelatinous ooze at the bottom of the bucket between his feet. He'd been hunched over for a good twenty minutes, and his shoulders had started to cramp. He tossed the deflated carcass on top of the pile of dead Flobberworms at his toes, and grabbed another one.

It was disgusting work, but he needed the essence for his supplies. Everything had to be ready. This is was his chance to make something of himself, other than a desperate Death Eater’s lapdog. 

His time at Hogwarts was almost finished. He'd passed the exams with top scores, and while the rest of his classmates were off somewhere on the grounds celebrating, he was in the dungeons, working on potions ingredients. Sunbathing wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. His pale skin made that evident. 

Not that he was jealous of the other students. He always knew he was different. He cared about different things, had a different upbringing, and so it went to reason that his life would be different too. He never had friends. He never got the girl.

Instead, he scored top marks and developed a keen sense of timing and concentration, and someone had noticed.

Professor Slughorn had pulled him aside in his early years and told him that he was the best potions student the man had seen in years. It was the first time Severus got recognized for something good. And now, with the highest marks, (near perfect marks, he would say), Slughorn had highly recommended him to a colleague of the Potions Masters Guild for an apprenticeship. 

This was no ordinary offer. Most potions were made by Healers or specialists who worked in the Apothecaries, but none of them required the qualifications of the Guild Masters. If Severus successfully completed his apprenticeship, he'd get the opportunity to earn the title for himself. An expert. A Master.

But then, unexpectedly, Slughorn had informed him that there was another candidate to be considered. Tomorrow, Severus was to report to a little Shop in Diagon Alley to show his abilities and be tested against this other opponent.

Severus was excellent at tests. He had this apprenticeship in the bag.

***

On the day of his test, the actual bag held all of his potions equipment, including the Flobberworm essence, neatly packed and ready for any procedure the Potions Master threw at him. Most any procedure, probably, Severus decided. He couldn't be certain that there would be any unexpected requests. The man he was trying to impress was a Master, after all. Severus also had impeccable technique. He could measure a draught to the drop by eyeballing it. Yes, he was that good. His glassware was clean. His robes were well-worn, but also clean. The green goo had taken three cleansing charms and an Episkey to fix the resulting hole where the essence had eaten through, but he looked more respectable now than he had in all of his years at Hogwarts.

He wanted this. He needed this. This was his ticket out of despair and destitution. His road to independence, respect and prosperity started when he achieved this position. He'd never have to squeeze Flobberworms by hand ever again. He could afford to purchase all the Flobberworm essence he would ever need from those Apothecary shoppes . Let the untrained masses deal with the mess. 

Lucius Malfoy, and the other Slytherins that he had known at Hogwarts, were full to the brim with pureblood snobbery and had rubbed it in his face for years. Even though Severus worked harder and longer than they did, and on more than one occasion, proved that he was more talented than they were, it never mattered. They always ended up on top, smelling like roses, and he always ended up scraping the proverbial muck off of their boots. 

But, if he was a Potions Master, that could all change.

His hands would finally be clean. 

So with these thoughts in his head, Severus Apperated to Diagon Alley. He made three passes up and down the street before he finally located the little storefront on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. 

There wasn't much to it. It wasn't flashy or expensive-looking or posh. In fact, it looked run down, dark, and uninviting. That would be fine, Severus decided. He wasn't much of a people person anyway. If the Potions Master was as famous as he'd heard, maybe he was a bit of a recluse himself. That would suit Severus just fine.

He cleared his throat, straightened up his robes, brushed a bit of lint off his shoulders and made sure that his hair was slicked back again. Then he rapped on the door.

His nerves fluttered around inside him as someone shuffled behind the door. It opened, and a paunchy man with a large frame and small spectacles peered back at him.

“What do you want?” the man asked brusquely.

“I’m… I’m here for the apprenticeship… sir,” Severus managed to spit out.

For some reason, even after dealing with the snobbery of Malfoy, Nott and Goyle, this man made him feel keenly unbalanced.

“Ahh,” the large man said. “The other one is already here. Get in.”

The man opened the door wider for him, and Severus deftly scooted inside. The Potions shop was just as dingy and uncomfortable inside as it was from the street. Severus thought he might rather like living here. It was so much better than the hovel he had called ‘home’.

“Let us get on with the introductions,” the older man said and waived a flabby arm to his right. 

Severus looked over to see a set of burgundy dress robes, the fancy kind, draped over the shoulders of a tall, shrewd-looking man who looked to be a few years older than himself.

“Chester Flaversham the Third,” said Expensive Robes.

“Severus Snape,” he said, introducing himself as dignified as he could manage.

Flaversham’s trimmed eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch, as if to say something demeaning about his plain attire without actually saying anything.

Severus got the message. He knew these types.

The fat-fingered man twined his hands behind his back. “Theodorus Netterheim,” he stated, “and the two of you are here to impress me. I have not taken an apprentice for many years, but you both came highly recommended. In the next room are two laboratory tables. On them, you will find your assigned potion. You are to use what you came with, nothing more. Understood?”

Severus clutched his bag nervously, while Flaversham straightened his tie and gave a curt nod.

“Very well. I’ll be back in one hour.”

With that, the Potions Master disapparated with a loud ‘crack’. Chester the Well-Dressed strolled into the next room, whistling an uppercrust ditty, and Severus took a few moments to steady his breathing. Then he summoned as much dignity as possible and followed his competitor into the next room.

Flaversham had already begun setting up his equipment on his lab table, pricey equipment at that, all shiny and possibly brand new. Severus shuddered when he pulled out a crystal flask that he’d seen in an ad from Potions Weekly. The flask alone was worth more than all of Severus’ lab equipment added up over the last seven years.

He might be pitted against rich-boy extraordinaire with all the latest potions equipment, an elite family bloodline, and a nose longer than Severus’ own to look down at everyone less fortunate than himself, but that didn’t mean this bloke knew anything about potions.

And then Severus saw his competitor pull out a large tome with dog-eared pages and hundreds of little bookmarks. It was the definitive edition of Advanced Potion Making by Libatius Borage, and Severus deflated at the sight of it. He had one of his own in his bag too, just as worn, and half-memorized.

That could only mean that whoever this bloke was, he was serious about his potions.

Why did life have to be so unfair? If he had the rich family, the right clothes, and the best of everything, he’d have it all. Severus surreptitiously allowed his eyes to roam over the table next to his. All that top-notch stuff… the sight of it made him green inside.

Maybe Slughorn was wrong about him. Maybe his old Potions Professor just wanted Severus to fail, to fade into obscurity and disappear. The man did seem to favor power and wealth as well. Perhaps hard work and raw talent just weren’t enough to get by in this world.

He hated being second-best. He hated being scorned and cast aside for someone more handsome, more presentable, someone who’d been dealt a better hand than Severus had. Did it matter how hard he worked, or how much he endured? In most cases, Severus never thought that he deserved more. He knew that others had better lives than him. That was just the way it was. He’d had to make deals, scrape by, do things he wasn’t proud of just to survive. But he never skimped on potions. It was like a religion to him.

Severus should be the one getting the attention. He’d be a potions star, if anyone would give him half a chance.

A chance to have a place to sleep that wasn’t in his broken home. A place where no one asked him to do distasteful things, a place where he could be respected for his intellect. This Third Chester of the Flavershams probably got that every single day of his life, while Severus was treated like dirt.

Severus hoped he wasn’t turning green outright when the bloke produced his little twirly machine that looked to be made of solid gold and his set of expensive vials that were probably the best crystal money could buy. For an instant, he wanted to take one just so he could have the pleasure of holding it. Feeling the smooth glass under his weathered fingers. Something that wasn’t scratched from use and borderline chipping at the lip. 

There they were, just a foot away, the latest, greatest potions equipment that money could buy, right next to him on his competitor’s lab table. And he couldn’t touch them. He shouldn’t even look at them. 

Wearily, Severus focused on setting up his own station, complete with second and third-hand equipment that looked like it had come from a rubbish bin in comparison. Pushing the bitter thoughts aside, he fell into his element, counting his stirs. Thirty-two… thirty-three… Using a wooden ladle took a steady hand. And patience. And this bloke had pulled out the latest copy of Witch Weekly in the middle of the potions trial?

Severus almost dropped his ladle, but caught the small lapse in concentration before it could affect his potion. Concentrate, you idiot! Give it your best. This is the last shot you’ll ever get to make something of yourself!

Maybe if he didn’t get the Apprenticeship, this Netterheim could refer him to the second-best Potions Master. Severus was willing to leave the country if it meant meager wages and a roof over his head. And a mentor who didn’t ask for a blood pact. That would also be a step up.

He watched as his competitor whipped out a small mesh square and poured his potion over the sieve, using his wand to spell the ingredients together. A gobbit of residue caught in the mesh, and when he was done, Faversham’s potion sat, crystal clear, inside the flask. Then, with a haughty flick of his chin, he took up a pipe from his bag and walked out of the room.

A smoke? Now?? Severus hurried to finish his own potion. He muttered to himself, a little louder than normal, about bagging the abandoned equipment while Chester enjoyed his tobacco outside. He heard someone clear their throat. To his dismay, it was Flaversham.

"H-how long have you been standing there?"

“Long enough.”

Green wasn’t the color he was turning now. If the Potions Master had heard…

Flaversham smirked at him. “Good luck.” He nodded to Severus’ primitive equipment and chuckled. “You’re going to need it with that junk.”

Seething with anger, Severus let slip a few choice words when the bloke finally turned his back and admired his perfectly clear potion. 

Life just wasn’t fair.

A loud ‘crack’ shook the walls, and the portly Potions Master appeared. He strode over to the laboratory tables and hemmed at the contents of each vial. Severus saw that Flaversham had actually broken a sweat, and thought, ‘Well, maybe I still have a chance.’ 

The clarity points, however, were undeniably going to his competitor.

Severus sulked inside his head, but kept his spine rigid, with echoes of his father (“Stand up straight, you skinny git!”) ringing in his memory. He wouldn’t let it show, but he was preparing for the biggest loss of his nonexistent career. 

Netterheim picked up the crystal vial and held it up to the light. “How did you manage to get the potion this transparent?” he asked.

“I used the Wiggenwald Spiggot Series 4, the best tool for potion making on the market,” Flaversham said confidently, apparently waiting for the Potions Master to be impressed.

Instead, he got a “hmm… and you, Mister Snape? Did you have this new-aged contraption at your disposal?”

“No,” Severus said, feeling the green creep around his eyes. The corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly.

Netterheim hummed to himself again, locking his eyes on each potion for several long moments and ticking off scribbles on his pad of parchment.

“Yes, yes. Good, good,” he said, nodding to himself. “Now for the potency test. This potion is meant for dissolving graffitti hexes off of stone walls.”

Severus’ face remained impassive, but his competitor smirked and exhaled an almost un-highbred guffaw. Netterheim gave him a stern look, and continued, 

“Potions are meant to do jobs. Saving lives or skinning rats, it doesn’t matter. The mission is always to make the most potent brew you can.”

He then proceeded to throw a very undignified hex at his own wall - the graffitti was clearly Troll scrawl - and Severus thought up a quick list of potential customers who would be offended at the sight of it.

Netterheim then grabbed the competitor’s potion vial and threw it at the wall. Severus flinched as ten galleons were wasted as the crystal shattered all over the floor of the shop. The Troll scrawl muddied and ran down the wall, becoming an illegible stain.

Flaversham looked like he’d be shaking his own hand and patting his own shoulder, if he didn’t have any self control… Severus stewed even more.

Then Netterheim aimed the second vial at the other half of the troll scrawl, and Severus found himself thankful that he hadn’t spent his last ten galleons on pricey glassware.

Crash! The vial shattered, the potion made contact with the wall, and a gas cloud formed over the letters… it soon dissipated, along with any trace of the troll scrawl. The wall was completely clean, back to normal.

His competitor eyed Severus suspiciously. “What did you put in it?”

Netterheim scratched his notes down and didn’t look up. “It’s not what he put in it, it’s what he didn’t take out. Any ideas as to why the second potion was more potent than the first, clear one?”

He directed the question straight at Severus. 

“Because he cheated?” Stiff Robes asked hopefully.

Severus scowled at the bloke’s audacity. Just because he had the money and the stuff and didn’t come out on top… throwing around accusations when he had a little competition… Severus glanced at Netterheim, who waited patiently for his reply. He was always having to prove himself, over and over. Strangely, it didn’t make sense why his own potion worked better than the one with better clarity. Usually, the more pure the product, the better it worked… unless...

“Organic impurities. The deposits that weren’t filtered out caused a stronger reaction with the graffitti hex,” Severus was thinking out loud now, but he figured anything he said now wasn’t going to hurt his chances at the apprenticeship. He had nothing to lose.

“Precisely,” Netterheim said. “It looks like your fancy mesh filter removed the key ingredients that made the potion effective, Mister Flaversham.

Chester the Third sulked. Severus stood in bewilderment. 

“Congratulations.”

It took a full three beats before Severus realized that Potions Master Netterheim was speaking to him instead of the bloke with the fancy stuff.

“I’ll put it in formal writing if you want, but I’d like you to start today. You have a lot of potential. Strongest batch I’ve seen in a long time. Excellent technique. Attention to detail. No need for those newfangled contraptions. Solid work ethic. Just what I’ve been looking for.”

Severus’ throat closed up, and he struggled to breathe. “M-m-me?”

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

It was true. Flaversham was packing up his high-brow equipment as fast as he could, even going so far as to drag what wasn’t fragile into the other room. 

“Look, there’s a time and place for the new doodads and thingamajigs, but this isn’t it. I deal with old school, old world, and ancient power. The new stuff sometimes can’t handle the load.”

***

An hour later, Severus was wearing his finest robes, had polished his cauldron, and was ready to learn from the best of the best. But when he got to the Potions shop, the laboratory was empty. He was perplexed and looked questioningly at Master Netterheim, who had come from a small room in the back of the shop.

“Ah, you’re early,” he said “I like you already. Are you willing to get your hands dirty?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” Severus couldn't wait to see what he was going to do first.

Netterheim produced a bucket from under the table and a small pocket knife. Disappointment came crashing down over Severus’ head like a rainstorm.

“Flobberworms...sir?”

Netterheim nodded. “There’s a pile of them out back. Go extract the essence for a week’s supply of Pepperup Potions by hand.”

Of course. It was just his luck that he would be doing the grunt work.

If Chester Flaversham the Third had gotten this job, would he be doing this kind of work, too?

Out behind the Potions shop, Severus spied High and Mighty the Third just coming out of the Leaky Cauldron. He smelled like the kind of lunch that Severus could never afford.

Flaversham saw him, did a double take and smirked.

“Have fun in your apprenticeship,” he called out, and Apparated away… likely to somewhere high and dry, and comfortable.

Severus shrugged off the sweat from his brow and started squeezing worms.


End file.
